dawn. He was a cruel man to work for and a soldier without remorse. That earned enough respect from Adonmeia, or so he assumed.
“Yes sir,” was all the corporal could reply.
Pirneon didn’t ease up. His life depended on it. “Get this rabble up and moving. We leave in an hour.”
Strapping their gear to their backs, the bedraggled group set out for camp. Dawn was still some time in coming. Pirneon didn’t particularly care. Marching at night was to their benefit. He knew that Habrim’s forces weren’t a threat, but his suspicions had been gnawing at his confidence ever since assaulting the command tent. The Satrap had been expecting him. It was the only way he could have been captured so easily. Pirneon couldn’t keep the now almost permanent frown from marring his features. Questions plagued him. Why would Habrim willingly surrender, knowing that death was an inescapable conclusion?
That ill feeling continued to strengthen the longer they marched. He didn’t know what to make of the current situation, but one thing became abundantly clear: there was more going on in the desert than he’d previously assumed. Pirneon dropped back to pull even with the corporal. It was time for answers.
“How many enemy soldiers did we kill last night?”
Confused, the corporal asked, “Sir?”
“How many do you think we killed?”
He wasn’t sure. “Maybe seventy to one hundred. Most of the men ran through the tents before the heavy fighting began. Every tent I entered was empty.”
Empty tents meant Habrim had been prepared for their arrival, waiting. What was he up to? Pirneon wasn’t sure, but no answer would be one to look forward to. The first rays of sunlight broke across the far horizon. It was going to be hot soon, and they still had more than a league to march. That league was all the time Pirneon had to reassess his situation.
“Thank you. Pass the word along. We stop at dawn for five minutes,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the corporal about his duties, the knight fought the urge to go and question Habrim. There could be no signs of collusion, or his neck would pay the price. Treason was already a very real fear. That marked him an instant target. With no loyalties to either man, he was a loose end. His best and safest bet was to deliver Habrim alive as promised and slip away before Adonmeia was the wiser.
The reality was far different. His oath to Habrim overrode any monetary commitment to the Caliph, at least as far as Pirneon was concerned. Honor demanded to be upheld. Adonmeia was a brutal man with an almost savage ferocity lurking beneath the surface. He was not one to be crossed, and Pirneon recognized he was putting his life in jeopardy just by conversing with Habrim. Should Adonmeia find out….
Still, Habrim was the more honorable of the two. Personal feelings held little regard when it came down to it, even for a knight of Gaimos, but Pirneon couldn’t help but figure he’d made a massive mistake by signing on with the Caliph. His thoughts were broken as the reduced company of raiders ground to a sudden halt.
Pirneon watched with disdain as the men slumped down on their packs to lick their wounds. Most of them were stained with blood or bore injuries themselves. They were worn down and near broken. He couldn’t stand the sight of them. Memories of fleeing Gaimos as it finally fell returned to him. Not even the broken army, what little remained of it, showed such despair. Watching the raiders act as if their world had just ended disturbed him.
Having seen enough, Pirneon decided it was time to speak with his prisoner. He strode purposefully to where a handful of guards loosely observed Habrim, knowing that none would oppose his will in so long as they believed he still held authority under Adonmeia. The majority of raiders refused to make eye contact or walked away as he approached. Pirneon snorted his displeasure.
“I need to speak with the prisoner,” he barked at
“Yes sir,” was all the corporal could reply.
Pirneon didn’t ease up. His life depended on it. “Get this rabble up and moving. We leave in an hour.”
Strapping their gear to their backs, the bedraggled group set out for camp. Dawn was still some time in coming. Pirneon didn’t particularly care. Marching at night was to their benefit. He knew that Habrim’s forces weren’t a threat, but his suspicions had been gnawing at his confidence ever since assaulting the command tent. The Satrap had been expecting him. It was the only way he could have been captured so easily. Pirneon couldn’t keep the now almost permanent frown from marring his features. Questions plagued him. Why would Habrim willingly surrender, knowing that death was an inescapable conclusion?
That ill feeling continued to strengthen the longer they marched. He didn’t know what to make of the current situation, but one thing became abundantly clear: there was more going on in the desert than he’d previously assumed. Pirneon dropped back to pull even with the corporal. It was time for answers.
“How many enemy soldiers did we kill last night?”
Confused, the corporal asked, “Sir?”
“How many do you think we killed?”
He wasn’t sure. “Maybe seventy to one hundred. Most of the men ran through the tents before the heavy fighting began. Every tent I entered was empty.”
Empty tents meant Habrim had been prepared for their arrival, waiting. What was he up to? Pirneon wasn’t sure, but no answer would be one to look forward to. The first rays of sunlight broke across the far horizon. It was going to be hot soon, and they still had more than a league to march. That league was all the time Pirneon had to reassess his situation.
“Thank you. Pass the word along. We stop at dawn for five minutes,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the corporal about his duties, the knight fought the urge to go and question Habrim. There could be no signs of collusion, or his neck would pay the price. Treason was already a very real fear. That marked him an instant target. With no loyalties to either man, he was a loose end. His best and safest bet was to deliver Habrim alive as promised and slip away before Adonmeia was the wiser.
The reality was far different. His oath to Habrim overrode any monetary commitment to the Caliph, at least as far as Pirneon was concerned. Honor demanded to be upheld. Adonmeia was a brutal man with an almost savage ferocity lurking beneath the surface. He was not one to be crossed, and Pirneon recognized he was putting his life in jeopardy just by conversing with Habrim. Should Adonmeia find out….
Still, Habrim was the more honorable of the two. Personal feelings held little regard when it came down to it, even for a knight of Gaimos, but Pirneon couldn’t help but figure he’d made a massive mistake by signing on with the Caliph. His thoughts were broken as the reduced company of raiders ground to a sudden halt.
Pirneon watched with disdain as the men slumped down on their packs to lick their wounds. Most of them were stained with blood or bore injuries themselves. They were worn down and near broken. He couldn’t stand the sight of them. Memories of fleeing Gaimos as it finally fell returned to him. Not even the broken army, what little remained of it, showed such despair. Watching the raiders act as if their world had just ended disturbed him.
Having seen enough, Pirneon decided it was time to speak with his prisoner. He strode purposefully to where a handful of guards loosely observed Habrim, knowing that none would oppose his will in so long as they believed he still held authority under Adonmeia. The majority of raiders refused to make eye contact or walked away as he approached. Pirneon snorted his displeasure.
“I need to speak with the prisoner,” he barked at
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